Firenze 1992
the sun was setting, setting still
upon the bridge of old
the river was an open road ahead,
a highway without end, all pines were dark.
we did paint a fresco of our lives
with wine, did carve our names in marble white
beneath the monument
where Dante lost his one true love
but the unicorns
have all disappeared
and left us standing alone
in the last light of summer
the millboard sword is broken,
the endmost dragon slain and lost,
and if we could go back again now
we only found two shades left mourning for those days
and all unicorns
somehow disappeared
leaving us standing alone
in the fading light of summer
the sun was setting, setting still
upon the bridge of old
the river was an open road ahead,
a highway without end, all pines were dark.
we did paint a fresco of our lives
with wine, did carve our names in marble white
beneath the monument
where Dante lost his one true love
but the unicorns
have all disappeared
and left us standing alone
in the last light of summer
the millboard sword is broken,
the endmost dragon slain and lost,
and if we could go back again now
we only found two shades left mourning for those days
and all unicorns
somehow disappeared
leaving us standing alone
in the fading light of summer